The Toast of the Town (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book III)

Not at All Cut Up About It

Two days later Imogen was furiously typing on her work computer, answering yet another email from yet another self-proclaimed psychic asking permission to access the Town Hall archives and to perform a ceremony of something or other on the village green in Fleckney Fields, on the day of the fiftieth anniversary of the death of Agatha Harewicke, Fleckney's most famous clairvoyant and herbalist - when the door to her office opened, and Viola Holyoake stuck her head inside.

"Morning, Imogen. Mrs. Harris," the doctor said, and gave both women a polite smile. "I was wondering when your lunch was, and if we could steal you away from the Town Hall. Since we are here– not on a strictly official business."

"Morning," Imogen answered. "'We?'"

Fiona Holyoake peeked from behind her sister-in-law.

"Hello." She gave Imogen a wide grin. "Mrs. Harris, morning!"

"Morning," Mrs. Harris answered. If she were a beagle, her nose would be twitching greedily to catch a whiff of possible gossip.

"I'll be available in half an hour," Imogen answered after looking down at her watch - and catching a glimpse of the ring on her finger, which she still wasn't used to, even one bit.

"Oh, you shouldn't make your friends wait," Mrs. Harris exclaimed. "The day is quiet, and the Mayor is in Abernathy. I'll hold the fort!"

Thanking the woman, Imogen picked up her handbag and her jacket, and followed the two Holyoakes outside. She saw a large black pick-up truck, like those that construction workers drove, parked outside.

"Your husband's?" Imogen asked Viola, pointing at it.

"It's actually mine," Fiona said with a shy laugh. "I drive my larger builds and my supplies in it. And Will's equipment as well."

"Ah, right, the volunteer fire brigade," Imogen remembered.

Fiona nodded. She was about an inch taller than Imogen, which wasn't tall at all, and it took both of them a significant effort to climb into the mechanical beast. Viola Holyoake, as it was to be expected, jumped in with the grace of a gazelle. Fiona started the engine.

"There was another break-in. In Fiona's studio," Viola said as soon as they drove out onto the road.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" Imogen exclaimed and leaned forward. "Are you alright?"

"It wasn't like that at all!" Fiona exclaimed, her eyes trained on the road. Her driving manner reminded Imogen of the Mayor's - confident, calm, and deliberate. "It was actually rather odd, wasn't it, Viola?" the artist continued.

"Fiona rents space in the Old Fire Station," the doctor explained. "The building belongs to the Oakbies, as I'm sure you know, and it's currently being renovated to be turned into a bookshop."

"By your friend Yolanda Roel, yes," Imogen confirmed. "I was the one who processed her permits."

"She let me use some of the space on the second floor," Fiona explained. "There are the most magnificent windows there. So much light! Yola said if it worked out for me, I could rent it officially and renovate it. I think I might consider it, I've just gotten a large commission from the Fleckney Players, the theatre company. The space is all empty now, I've just got some random tables there, crates, and a workbench. But the oddest thing is, the truck wasn't there, I drove it home! And they cut those too!"

Imogen looked at Viola inquiringly. Clearly, some parts of the painter's explanation were missing.

"Someone broke into Fiona's studio last night - and into her truck as well," Viola explained.